Curse of the Dragon Kings

by Anne Spackman

  "There is nothing in Elwellyn that will do us real harm, as long as we intend the forest no evil." Galanor explained.

  A moment later, Aiovel called them to a halt. As they left the path, Galanor looked over at the half-elf priest, his eyes narrowing. "All the same," he added seriously, "we should try to be out before our friend Rodruban comes back."

  Which of course was impossible.

  * * * * *

  Gil woke early the next morning. Nearby, the others dozed, though it seemed Aiovel had disappeared. The sparrows, tits, and wrens chirped at him, but it was not their call that had awakened him. Gil tiptoed away from the clearing and headed into the trees. At a safe distance from the camp, he halted and found a large bush that would serve for urgent personal business.

  Gil begain to relieve himself. When he had finished answering the call of nature, Gil hurried away toward camp again. He had only managed a few steps when he heard a faint sound like ringing chimes dancing in the breeze.

  He looked around but saw nothing unusual. A few steps more— a faint shriek came suddenly from the ground in front of him. Gil stepped back as though he had been burned, then stooped down to take a look among the ferns.

  "Be careful you don't step on me." He heard a small, sweet voice say. Then there was silence. Gil was about to leave, when suddenly he noticed a cluster of bluebells beside the ferns, their rounded cups tossed by the breeze like bells in a church tower. They were pretty flowers, Gil noticed, though admittedly, he didn't have much experience with flowers.

  Gil almost turned away, but found himself reluctant to leave. Why rush off? It was so nice here in the forest. He looked back to the bluebells. They were beautiful, enticing. What had Galanor said about bluebells?

  Gil stooped forward. A sweet perfume wafted toward his nose.

  Go ahead. The flowers bounced in delighted frenzy. Gil bent down and gently held one under his nose, then inhaled deeply. He felt a cloud descend over his thoughts. But why worry?

  He felt indefinably content. The bluebells were ringing, soft chimes tinkling merrily.

  "I'm so glad you happened by," piped the same sweet voice that he had heard before, and this time Gil saw a tiny creature peering from under the rim of one of the flowers. He squatted to get a closer look and angled his head to look inside the bluebell. Even upside-down, Gil had no difficulty in discerning the small feminine form of the pixie.

  "Would you like to join me?" she asked enticingly, and Gil nodded weakly. In the blink of an eye, he found himself sitting on a small sofa, reduced to the size of an ant. The bluebell was much larger from the inside, a lavish home, really.

  Gil looked around and saw his host standing a few pixie-feet away. What an amazing creature she was! The pixie had been small before, and her features indistinguishable; now she was a beautiful, well-endowed creature with long eyelashes, scantily clad in a short dress of spider silk.

  The pretty pixie jumped for joy at the sight of her captive, and her blue curls bounced around her face. As she danced toward him, Gil swallowed, overcome by sensations he had never felt before.

  "Let him go, Penelope," A voice boomed above them, and the pixie abruptly stopped. She drew back, throwing a protective arm around Gil. Gil looked beyond Penelope's white arm to the rim of the bluebell, where a large, green-gold eye had appeared. Gil cringed, horrified by it.

  "I won't!" Penelope protested. "Not this time!"

  "You dare refuse?" The booming voice came again.

  "Yes!" Penelope cried. "I found this one. He's mine. Just ask him. You don't want to leave, now do you, my lovely man?" She turned to Gil imploringly. Gil shook his head mutely.

  "You see?" The pixie said, glaring at the intruding eye. "Now go away and leave us alone, bigfoot!"

  For a moment, no answer came. Then the ground began to move— violently. Gil was tossed to the wall, and Penelope fell into him. No sooner had they landed than they were swept across to the other side. This time, Gil's sword found the wall and rent a toothpick-sized hole into it.

  "My home!" The pixie shrieked, though her ire was directed at the intruder, not at Gil.

  "Will you give him up?" Gil could just barely make out the words in that deep rumble.

  "A pixie's bluebell is sacred!" Penelope exclaimed. Gil didn't understand what that meant, but he was tired of being thrown about.

  "I don't want to have to pull out your roots," the voice threatened.

  "You wouldn't!" The pixie screamed, horrified.

  "You leave me no other choice. Your magic spell cannot be broken any other way. I'll do it since I must— unless you relinquish the boy."

  "Just a moment. Give me time to consider it," Penelope attempted to stall.

  They heard a boom from the stem below, like the sound of pressure being applied. The bluebell rocked from side to side like a boat; Gil felt faintly nauseous.

  Penelope looked mournfully at Gil. "All right, you can have him back," she said at last. "Such cruelty of the bigfoots. My man would have been happier here," she added tearfully.

  Suddenly Gil stood looking down on a small clump of blue flowers; there was no sign of the pixie Penelope.

  "Are you all right, Gil?" Aiovel laid a hand on his shoulder. Aiovel had saved him!

  "Yes," Gil replied, having found his voice. Now he recalled what had happened. What an insidious trap!

  "Weren't you listening to Galanor earlier?" Aiovel said, amused.

  Gil nodded, then light dawned. "You mean he—"

  "Not Penelope of course, but one of her many sisters trapped him, too." Aiovel said, laughing. "Freeing him was more difficult by far, as I recall. And Galanor couldn't help himself, any more than you could. Pixies have strong magic, stronger than you might think."

  "But they're so little—"

  "Nevertheless, they are ancient creatures and must be dealt with cautiously. Pixies were not always of such stature, you know. But when the world changed, the pixies withdrew from it. Still, as with all ancient creatures their enchantments are strong—but they usually only affect the unwary, and dreamers."

  "I never thought they actually existed." Gil admitted. "In Gyfen, mothers tell their children stories about pixies, but they're supposedly harmless." Gil blushed, remembering how he'd reacted to Penelope's advances. But perhaps it was because she had called him a man, while everyone else referred to him as "boy".

  "Yes— a kinder portrayal than the pixies deserve," Aiovel continued. "But do not feel embarrassed, Gil. Their magic can even hold sway over a— over Galanor," she corrected herself quickly before she let the word slip. Gil wondered what she might have said, but he was not really in the mood for conversation.

  "You won't tell the others what happened?" He ventured a moment later, as they approached the camp.

  "No," Aiovel assured him. "As long as you promise to pay better attention to warnings from now on."

  * * * * *

  "No, no, Gil, you've got it all wrong. Like this," Dylan lunged slowly, giving Gil a chance to copy his movement. "And don't hold your sword so close to your body," he added, watching the boy, trying hard not to smile.

  "He's terrible," Lilia said, munching on a slice of hard tack. Gil's face fell, and he frowned.

  "Now don't listen to her, Gil," Mygdewyn advised. "Or you'll never get any better." Gil nodded, then lifted his sheathed sword again. He slashed forward toward Dylan.

  "No, no," Dylan said, watching Gil overextend his sword. He deftly avoided the blow, then brought his own sheathed blade soundly across Gil's back. "First lesson," Dylan said. "Never let anger influence your movement. You have to be patient, Gil. Wait a moment and study your opponent's tactics, and look for weaknesses. Parry as long as you can, then look for an opening in your opponent's defense. That's the smart way to fight."

  "Balderdash," The dwarf shook his head.
"I've charged in more times than I can count."

  "And how many of those times did I have to save your neck?" Ronan chuckled, sitting on a rock by the stream where they had made camp the previous evening. "Mygdewyn, your way is not for everyone."

  "But sometimes you don't have the time to think." The dwarf insisted. "Like back there in Gyfen. There were too many opponents at once to hesitate."

  "Now that I think about it," Ronan considered, "you weren't exactly following your own advice back then, Prince Dylan." Ronan reminded him, his smile almost congenial. "And I seem to recall you rushed into the fray first, back there with those brigands."

  "Yes, well, perhaps I did," Dylan admitted, chagrined. "But first I learned how to fight one-on-one. Patience is a good thing to learn for any fight, especially for a beginner. Once Gil has mastered the basics, then we can discuss how to deal with multiple opponents."

  "Hmmmpf," the dwarf shrugged. "Well, I suppose the boy has to start somewhere."

  "If you don't trust our friend Dylan with his education, why don't you give Gil a lesson with the axe sometime?" Ronan asked.

  "That I will, when we have the time for it," the dwarf agreed, a twinkle in his eye.

  * * * * *

  By noon, Gil's arms and shoulders were aching from the morning's practice. Even though his new blade was light, his palms were not used to the weight of wielding it, and small blisters had begun to form on the inside of his hand. He had only just begun to understand how to hold the blade properly by the time the others were ready to press on.

  "Don't worry about it so much, Gil. You'll get better," Dylan said suddenly, as though reading Gil's thoughts. He plucked a handful of wild raspberries from the bushes that now lined the forest path and gobbled them quickly, then wiped his mouth with his sleeve.

  If Culan had seen me do that, Dylan thought, but shook his head. He didn't have to worry about princely etiquette out here.

  "I thought there would be elves living in this forest," Lilia said suddenly, sounding deflated. "I'm beginning to think nothing lives here except all these stupid birds."

  Gil blushed when she said that; Galanor laughed, though not at Gil. "We have already passed many creatures, dryads, and sprites in the forest, whether or not you took any notice of them." He said.

  "I've been watching the tracks," Mygdewyn added. "You can be sure this forest is inhabited." The dwarf nodded in satisfaction.

  "We'll be stopping soon," Aiovel said from up ahead. "There's a small pond of fresh water a few paces down the pathway coming up on our left."

  "A pond?" Lilia echoed, smiling, already thinking about a swim.

  "Not again," Ronan said and threw up his hands.

  * * * * *

  "Where are you going, young thing? Come, stop for some refreshment." Lilia thought she heard a voice call as she swam about under the water. The pond had turned out to be more of a small lake, really, and extended even further underwater, leading away into a dark, underground cave.

  Lilia looked around for the source of the voice; a few large, tangled green weeds floated nearby, anchored by a great boulder. Their undulating motion was hypnotic, as though enticing her to come take a bite of the weeds; if she were a fish, she probably would have, but Sea Elves in general had no appetite for sea weeds, much less fresh water ones.

  She listened again, but heard nothing more. Convinced she had imagined the sounds after all, she kicked away and back toward the surface, oblivious to the fresh water leviathan's trap. The leviathan, a magical sea monster, watched her escape and started to rethink its approach.

  "A nice refreshing swim," Lilia sighed, emerging from the water with a great splash. Dylan deftly avoided it, attuned now to the girl's tricks.

  "Now that you mention it, a bath would be nice," Dylan said on reflection and dipped his hand in the water of the large pond to test it. "It's chilly, though." He admitted, somewhat less inclined now to take a dip.

  "Can't you conjure up something better than this to eat?" Mygdewyn complained, eyeing Ronan ruefully as he chewed another piece of dried meat.

  "Sorry, dear Mygdewyn," Ronan shrugged. "But I'd have to be really hungry to be able to conjure up a spell, and I'm afraid with this staff," he raised his staff, "I feel less hunger, and I lack the motivation to do so. Besides," he added. "Aiovel's picked us so many nice berries. It would be a shame not to eat them." Ronan plucked one from atop the pile on a large stone.

  Galanor sat nearby, showing Gil how to cock an arrow on his silver bow. Aiovel stood leaning against a tall tree, her arms folded thoughtfully across her chest.

  "How strange!" Ronan exclaimed, watching Galanor draw an arrow and present it to Gil. Gil struggled to hold the bow steady as he fitted the arrow, ignoring Ronan's comment. "I would have sworn you had only one arrow in your quiver," Ronan went on in explanation and shook his head. "But now I see there is still one more."

  Galanor smiled involuntarily. "Ah, Ronan, truly you have the keen eye of an elf. Yes, my quiver holds but one arrow, but is it truly in Gil's hands?" he asked enigmatically.

  "Eh?" Gil said, lowering the great silver bow.

  "Fire the arrow, if you will, boy." Galanor instructed, and Gil raised the bow again. With a loud twang, the arrow fell into the ground only a few feet away.

  "Try again," Galanor advised, handing him another arrow. Ignoring Lilia's laughter, Gil succeeded marginally better this time as the arrow sailed into a branch on the other side of the large pond.

  "Now you have no more arrows—" Ronan began, then stopped. There was yet another arrow in Galanor's quiver. Even Gil had now noticed something odd.

  "This is a magical arrow," Galanor said, taking the bow back from Gil. "Only one arrow it is that remains in my quiver. The arrows drawn from it are only of material substance for a short time. The arrows my friend Gil has shot will turn to vapor in time and disappear. They are of magical creation, you see."

  No, he didn't. How could an arrow just turn into vapors? Ronan had never heard of magic weapons like this before.

  "I only hope that one Gil shot across the water was not poisoned." Galanor continued. "Still, the tree may yet survive even if it were." Galanor shrugged, chuckling. "The poison in my pack was not created to harm trees."

  "Where did you get the arrow?" Gil asked, wide-eyed.

  "Ah, the silver bow and arrow were a gift from Aiovel. A very fine gift I have treasured for many years, along with the sword."

  Gil turned to Aiovel, about to ask something else, when suddenly a shout interrupted their talk.

  "On your guard!"

  His sword already drawn, Dylan rushed past the tree where Aiovel stood to face the shadows beyond. Gil and the others turned their attention to the rustling in the trees as Aiovel came behind Dylan and clapped him on the shoulder.

  "Don't be alarmed, Dylan," she said, moving past the prince. She smiled as a figure appeared in the clearing from the rustling trees.

  "Is he an elf?" Gil asked Galanor, watching the strange reunion between Aiovel and the intruder.

  "Yes, a Shadow Elf." Galanor nodded.

  "A Shadow Elf?" Lilia repeated, coming up beside them. The wide grin on her face showed that she was pleased they had at last encountered one of the forest's inhabitants.

  "I imagine he has come from the Living Palace to meet us," Galanor added.

  "So, what is that place?" Lilia demanded.

  "It is the home of the Shadow Elves." Galanor replied. "All elves live in such places, in palaces in the forest, just as dwarves usually prefer to live in caverns in the mountains where they build their jeweled halls. Everyone who has been in the world a while knows that! Yet we'll be welcome there— and safe for a while, away from the perils of the wilderness and the creatures of the wild. Aiovel hoped to reach the palace by nightfall."

  Safe? Gil swallowed. Aiovel had said they'd be s
afe in the forest, but he'd already had a close brush with a doom of oblivion in the pixie's lair. By her definition of safe, Gil figured he'd better stay alert. Or was it that the dangers to come were so dreadful that the forest was really safe by comparison? Gil didn't like to think about that as a possibility.

  The others seemed to share no similar reservations. However, they hadn't any reason to be wary— yet.

  "A palace full of elves?" Ronan said in excitement. "Oh, such hospitality we shall receive, Mygdewyn!"

  Mygdewyn smiled broadly. If he remembered correctly, a feast among elves was something truly magnificent. He had just finished lunch but thought he heard his stomach rumbling already.

  * * * * *

  They traveled on until past nightfall. Then gradually the path grew lighter, as though illuminated by the light of many fires ahead. The silver trees to either side of the pathway towered above them, over a hundred steps high. Finally the avenue widened into a large grove, arranged in a rectangular pattern with interlacing branches and high platforms built between the trees. It was a great city made of living trees, hidden among the high whispering branches.

  The Living Palace glowed with the silver light of the moon cascading through interspersed openings above, and with the orange-red of bright fires below. They continued on to a great feasting hall, the walls of which were made of trees grown together. Their elf guide halted near one of the feasting tables as a dozen richly dressed elves, wearing robes of embroidered silks and brocades and fine woolen or linen tunics, approached Gil and the other companions. The approaching elves, like Aiovel, were unnaturally beautiful. Some had silver or silver-black hair; others were golden-haired, and still others had pale green hair the color of the forest leaves! Their eyes were silver or green. Gil wondered briefly why they were called Shadow Elves.

  Aiovel and Galanor spoke a few words with the elves as the others were invited to sit at the table; the dwarf rushed ahead eagerly without compunction and sat down.

  "Now now, Mygdewyn, remember what Myrddin said about gluttony," Ronan reminded the dwarf, hurrying after him, but Mygdewyn didn't seem to be listening.